Daisy stops to address the reader directly. Dear reader, she says, if you know what it is like to be on the end of one lead or another, or to be moved on before you’ve had chance to finish your wee, or to be jolted out of the smells of others, or to have buried your nose in the deep leaves only to lose the tiny spider of your longing, if you know these things, dear reader, then stop with me here, at the corner of this street, and pull against those things that wish to move us on. Rest a while with me. Draw back from the page. Sit yourself down — At this point, I feel I have to interrupt. Let’s get this story going again! I say, giving Daisy’s lead a tug. Where are these readers you are talking about?